


Old Age and Treachery

by shadeshifter



Series: Finding Home [8]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our favourite old guys get one over on someone else. Each chapter is a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Games Immortals Play

Kronos was in Paris, working on cementing Damien Moreau’s come back, when the temptation struck him and he simply couldn’t resist. Le Blues Bar was dimly lit and the music was tolerable, though nothing Kronos recognised off-hand. 

MacLeod wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the Watcher, Dawson, was at the bar, pouring drinks and chatting amiably with the few customers there. Kronos had never had cause to seek him out before but found himself curious about another mortal for whom Methos had developed affection.

Kronos settled himself at the bar and watched the mortal as he served drinks. He seemed old and frail, especially when he tried to walk. But then all mortals did. It took surprisingly little effort to do them irreparable injury. Unless, of course, they were Winchester or McDonald, and then death seemed only slightly more of an obstacle than it would to an Immortal.

“What can I get you?”

“Wine,” Kronos told him. “Whatever you recommend.”

“New in town?” Dawson asked, pouring a glass and putting it in front of Kronos.

“Yes, I suppose,” Kronos said. “I’ve been in Paris before, but it seems like centuries ago.” 

Dawson’s eyes widened before he got his expression under control. Kronos could concede that the mortal had a fairly good poker face.

“Travel a lot?” Joe asked a little cautiously. Kronos didn’t get a chance to answer when MacLeod settled down at the bar beside him. He still hadn’t decided if the lack of forewarning when an Immortal approached was a blessing or a curse.

“Hey, Joe,” MacLeod greeted with a smile

“MacLeod.”

“Quiet night,” MacLeod said, glancing at Kronos curiously.

Dawson and MacLeod exchanged a significant, if not very subtle, look as they tried to determine who Kronos was. Dawson clearly suspected he was an Immortal and MacLeod hadn’t realised there was anything to be worried about. 

Perhaps Methos was right and there were more satisfying forms of revenge than simply taking heads. Besides, Kronos was in Hell for over 1000 years, even he got bored of torture after a while, at least the physical kind.

“You were telling me about your travels?” Joe prompted. Kronos shrugged.

“Oh, I’ve been all over,” Kronos said. “Dallas, London, New York, Paris, Seacouver, wherever my fancy takes me, really.” 

Kronos diligently kept a straight face as MacLeod looked more and more concerned at the places Kronos listed. MacLeod’s gaze flicked down to Kronos’ wrist, but it was covered by the cuff of his shirt, then to Joe who shrugged. MacLeod remained tense.

“What is it that you do?” MacLeod asked.

With deliberate slowness Kronos took a sip of wine before undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, revealing bare forearms before answering.

“Shipping and transport, mostly,” Kronos said, almost honestly. “But I dabble in antiques. There’s nothing quite like the weight of a good sword in your hand.”

Dawson and MacLeod shared another look and MacLeod gave a small shake of his head. Kronos downed the last of his drink.

“Well, this has been fun. I’ll have to come back next time I’m in Paris,” Kronos said, tossing a note on the table. 

As he left the bar, Kronos wondered how many tense days and anxious nights MacLeod would spend worrying if he was a threat and what that would mean for MacLeod’s life. Maybe he should get some of his newly established network to stir things up occasionally. It wouldn’t do for MacLeod to let down his guard, after all.


	2. A Debt Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel takes issue with Cassandra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching the last few seasons of Highlander, you know the ~~important~~ Methos ones, and couldn't help but think of this when I watched To Be/Not To Be
> 
> My understanding of Cassandra and her reaction to Methos is that she came to love him (whether honestly or Stockholm syndrome) and trusted him to look after her, and that it's his betrayal of that more than how he treated her that makes her hate him. Also, the fact that she hates herself for feeling anything about him at all. So, that’s what I’m running with.

Cassandra snarled when she saw the small, rectangular card lying on the floor at her front door. It depicted the Statue of Liberty with its face warped into an absurd smile. The words ‘Missing You’ and ‘Wish You Were Here’ emblazoned on either side. She snarled as she picked it up and turned it over. In a scrawl were the words ‘Still not dead’. 

She’d had several of these postcards already, with variations on the wording, and there was only one man alive who would dare to taunt her in this way; Methos. The thought of him still living, laughing, loving, after all he’d done, made her feel ill. Clearly, he’d only waited long enough for Duncan’s presence in his life to fade before he sought her out again. But she refused to be cowed. 

There were a few contacts she could get in touch with and several more she could convince to come to her aid. She wasn’t certain she could take him herself and Duncan, misguided as he was, would never forgive her even if she could. But she couldn’t leave things as they were; it was time to end it.

...

Gabriel scowled as he watched the wretched woman make her petty little plans. Oh, they had only a slim chance of succeeding, even before Azrael had acquired his new allies. As it was, she would be lucky to come out of the whole thing alive, herself. Neither Winchester nor Wolfram and Hart’s ex-golden child (and hadn’t that just been a coup) would appreciate having their new little family ripped apart. And Gabriel found he was at least a little bit fond of both the men. He even actively liked DiNozzo, who was a man after his own heart. Besides, he owed Azrael a debt and he hated to be indebted to anyone. It always came back to bite him in the ass at the most inconvenient times.

Between one moment and the next, Gabriel allowed himself to become visible. Cassandra turned, immediately sensing him. 

“You will tell me who you are and what you want,” she said, power in her voice. Gabriel smirked.

“Do you want to play a game?” he asked instead. She frowned at him, clearly missing the reference entirely.

“I have no desire to play games.”

“Yet you pursue Methos.”

“He taunts me!” she snapped, losing her temper and whatever calm facade she might have had.

“He only taunts people he likes. Trust me, he never thinks of you,” Gabriel said and her expression twisted spitefully, though he wondered if it was because she hadn’t been able to forget him as easily as he seemed to forget about her. A woman scorned, indeed.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded.

“You wanted a world in which he never existed, so I’ll give you one,” Gabriel said and they both disappeared in a flash of light.

...

Cassandra watched as the three Horsemen cut their swathe across the known world. When they came to an encampment or village, no one was left to tell of it. It wasn’t anything like when Methos had been among their number and they’d taken slaves or left survivors to tell the story because it increased their infamy and people’s fear of them.

Spaces between attacks were also fewer and shorter than they had been from what she remembered. Nor were the attacks so precise. But she hardly felt that because the Horsemen were slightly less appalling with Methos among their number that it excused his actions.

“What is the point of this?” she demanded

“I told you,” Gabriel said. “A world without Methos.”

“It doesn’t seem all that different to me,” she said, folding her arms and looking away from both him and the scenes in front of them. Gabriel shrugged.

“That’ll change.”

...

Cassandra saw herself, young and ignorant for all that she thought she’d known about the world and suffering then. She hadn’t even begun to know. It happened as it had in her memory. Alkaios ran from over the hill and behind him three, not four, riders rode hard, easily catching up to him and cutting him down. They rode into her camp, cutting down her family and friends.

“You know what we are,” Kronos said, removing his mask.

“We have nothing you want,” her teacher told him.

“Then you die.”

Cassandra turned away from her own pleading and Kronos stabbing her. She squeezed her eyes shut when Kronos cut down her teacher, the man who’d taught her everything she’d known about healing and herbs at that point.

When she turned back Kronos was waiting for her to revive, much as Methos once had, though he had no words of warning for her this time. Instead, he raised his sword and chopped off her head.

“You honestly think I should be grateful Methos was the one to kill me?” Cassandra asked, incredulous.

Gabriel shrugged. What she believed was entirely up to her, but if death was really what she wanted, she wouldn’t still be around.

...

“I skipped over a bit because quite frankly most of it was boring and he kept an astonishingly low profile, but there were fewer freed slaves in this reality and Mary Shelley died in obscurity.”

“You think freeing a few slaves makes up for the hundreds he kept and the thousands he killed?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Gabriel said. “I’m all for balancing the scales of karmic justice, but are you telling me you never owned slaves?”

She glared at him through narrowed eyes.

“Honey,” he said. “I remember the world when you were young. You either owned slaves or you were a slave. There wasn’t an in-between.”

Cassandra folded her arms and looked away from him. He figured that was another point to him.

“Who is this woman?” she asked instead.

“Kristin,” Gabriel told her. “I believe MacLeod tangled with her when he was younger.”

“I know her by reputation,” Cassandra said.

“Then you should be glad she’s dead.”

Cassandra became silent once more and turned to the scene Gabriel presented her; Mac watching Kristin and Richie fight after he’d failed to deal with her and she had pursued Richie ceaselessly.

Richie was good, he was Mac’s student after all, but he suffered from the same flaw MacLeod did. He failed to take advantage of several openings she offered because he was hesitant about fighting a woman he’d once loved. 

Kristin got the upper hand and stabbed Richie through, then drew back her sword and took his head. MacLeod sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face, as he watched Kristin take Richie’s Quickening. 

The moment it became quiet and she knelt on the ground, panting, MacLeod pulled himself to his feet and drew his sword. Kristin looked up at him, shock and betrayal written across her features, as he separated her head from her shoulders without so much as a challenge.

...

Cassandra watched as Duncan succumbed to Koltec’s Dark Quickening, the darkness slowly overwhelming all that was good and pure in him. She watched him attack Joe. There was no Richie to attempt to appeal to his better nature or Methos to lead him to a sacred spring to purify himself. He was lost and his killing didn’t limit itself to just Sean Burns.

“Duncan can overcome this,” Cassandra said with confidence. Gabriel wondered how much of it was feigned. 

“Perhaps,” Gabriel admitted. “In time.”

They both knew that this MacLeod, even if he did overcome the Dark Quickening, would never be the same again. Either way, the Champion was lost. Which was what made what came next so significant.

The scene shifted and she could see Richie with a sinister smirk as he confronted MacLeod.

“Ahriman,” she said and Gabriel nodded. 

MacLeod barely fought the demon, and that was just to prove he wasn’t a pushover, before he began negotiating.

“I’ve seen enough,” she said, turning her back on the sight of MacLeod shaking hands with the demon.

“Not yet,” Gabriel told her. “There’s one more thing you should see.”

...

Gabriel showed her the war in Heaven, Castiel and Raphael facing off against each other and Castiel’s declaration that he was God. He showed her the Leviathans and the destruction they wrought. He showed her the fall of the angels. All of that would have happened without Methos’, and by extension Azrael’s, intervention. 

Gabriel definitely preferred the current reality. Not least because he was alive in it.

“You really expect me to believe one man made such a difference?” Cassandra scoffed. Gabriel shrugged.

“You believe MacLeod had the same impact.”

“MacLeod is a Champion.”

“So are several of the people Methos has influenced. Not to mention what he himself is.”

“And what is he?” she asked, torn between disdain and curiosity.

“More than you could ever comprehend.”

“So you want me to forgive him for all the wrong he has done me and many others because he happened to do a few good things while looking out for his own survival?” she snarled. 

“I don’t care if you do or not, but you should know that he has powerful allies and an army of angels that would march at his word,” Gabriel told her. “Or mine.”

“It might be worth it.”

“I also know a few people who would be happy to drag your soul to hell. Whatever you have suffered, it wouldn’t be anything compared to the eternity that would await you,” Gabriel told her. “And you wouldn’t do more than annoy him, anyway. Not even I could kill him.”

That seemed to give her pause and Gabriel hoped it would be enough. She wouldn’t be able to kill Azrael, but she might be able to kill Methos and Gabriel much preferred the Immortal to the angel. Methos, at least, had a sense of humour. Besides, her continued vendetta would annoy Methos and he might decide to disappear again. Gabriel didn’t want to have to deal with the Host by himself. They were far too needy.

“Very well,” Cassandra conceded. “I will leave him alone.”

“Good,” Gabriel said with a wide grin and he disappeared.

...

Methos watched Kronos post another postcard. He seemed far too pleased with himself as far as Methos was concerned, and that was never a good thing.

“Who do you keep writing to?” he asked.

“Jealous?” Kronos said with a wicked grin as he slid up to Methos and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I assure you, Brother, you have no cause to be.”

“Suspicious,” Methos corrected. 

“No one important,” Kronos said, ducking down to draw Methos into a heated kiss.

“I still don’t trust you,” Methos muttered, but he didn’t draw away.

“That’s only because you know me so well,” Kronos said with a wicked smile.


	3. Tables Turned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before the entire Finding Home series.

Methos took a seat, glancing around the office, taking note of the wooden block that displayed the name ‘AD Frank Crawford’. There was something about the man himself that set Methos on edge, though he couldn’t pinpoint entirely what.

“Agent Baines,” Crawford said, looking up from his papers. “I see you’ve requested a transfer from cyber crimes.”

“I feel that my talents aren’t being utilised to their fullest extent there,” Methos told him, tone polite and deferential, as he sifted through his memories for what seemed so familiar about the man. It took a long moment before he realised what he was feeling; the presence of a pagan god.

“And you feel a field position would do that?” Crawford asked. 

Methos considered everything he knew or had heard about the man, the fact that he was exceedingly fair, that he never let outside influences or pressure from above affect his decisions. A god of justice, but which one, Methos wondered. 

“I would have thought a man of your skills and temperament would find law a more appealing profession,” Methos said ingenuously. Crawford narrowed his eyes, frowning at him.

“I found law enforcement had a more immediate impact,” he drawled. Methos smiled lazily.

“All the better to keep the wolves from the door,” Methos said, fishing for information, and watched Crawford start.

“I’m not Tyr,” Crawford told him directly, posture tense, and his hand held under the desk, undoubtedly reaching for a weapon.

“Forseti,” Methos guessed. The Norse god of Justice and Reconciliation. 

“Who are you?”

Methos raised his hands to show that he wasn’t holding a weapon and didn’t desire conflict.

“A disinterested party.”

Crawford’s eyes remained narrowed as he glared at Methos who smiled benignly back.

“I know just the team for you,” Crawford said, signing his forms and dropping them into his out tray.

Methos had a sudden feeling of foreboding.


End file.
